


How the Jötunn Stole Jól

by TheAngryKimchi



Category: How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Mpreg, Original Child Characters, Unreliable Narrator, With A Twist, norse yule traditions, not canon cmpliant to any of those, thor/12 days of christmas/ Grinch fusion, various relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-04 23:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17314247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAngryKimchi/pseuds/TheAngryKimchi
Summary: The month of Jól, merry and jolly for all;people dancing and swirling around,worries and problems setting off the ground.A festive time for creation,but what would happen with a little intervention?Take a seat and hold your breaths, for the story I must tell, none alike you have ever heard.-The fusion of Thorki, 12 Days of Christmas and The Grinch that nobody asked for.





	1. Every Story Has A Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year~!  
> This story is in fairytale mode/speak and is nothing alike to either the song or the movie used as inspirations, only the very base idea.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Little ones, ‘tis high time for scurrying under your furs.”

“But, Dam, won’t you favour us with your excellent story-telling in this festive evening?” Arja, the oldest of the bunch pleads with her soulful mauve eyes, looking upon her parent in mischievous expectation.

“But, why, of course dearest heart,” the man’s lips stretch into a wide grin, carding his fingers through his little girl’s inky hair with fondness.

A fluttery kiss gets caressed on her pale forehead and a welcoming gesture of his hand prompts the children to sit around the hearth. Five pairs of brilliantly coloured eyes watch him as he takes position above them. Golden seiðr veils them, swirls and changes the infantry; a scene much similar to the man’s voice – smooth and gentle – comes forward, sweeping them all for a trip in a time centuries past, when the children hadn’t been nearly a thought at the back of their parents’ minds.

When the people were harsh and the unknown feared and shunned.

 

* * *

 

Now, now, my sweet Halflings, take a seat and hold your breaths for the story I must tell, none alike you have ever heard.

Occurring on the moon of Jól, many centuries ago, on a godly planet, much like our own; there, happened a story you must see to believe. Way far in the forest and in the valleys of the Eternal Realm, with palace of gold and a rainbow for a bridge, home of the Aesir and symbol of peace, Asgard, the golden city lay; with valleys vast and mountains high and a golden palace unlike any other, at the very centre shines.

Ask any Ás you might meet and thus proudly they will bellow:   _There is no creature like the Aesir, no species worthier and no soul more brave!_ They were quite the self-esteemed fools, you see.

Children, shush your laughs and listen closely for a time that almost came not to pass.

Like any other story, there is a start. Many years ago; it all begun way before that accursed month of Jól. 

One day, fine like any other in this realm had been, the Bifrost’s light appeared. Every warrior was armed and every horse was bridled and Asgard’s King marched in front his army’s best. Fresh from battle and victorious as well, in his arms the Jötnar’s smallest bairn he held. Small as an Aesir, blue like the sea instead, eyes red and hair black as ink, it cooed and suckled on its tiny blue thumb and looked upon the King with hope for a future barren of hurt.

The small Jötunn’s story, not one for the delicate hearted is, so please, children, those of you too sensitive to hear; go, scramble in your beds this moment here.

Still waiting by the fire, I see. Perhaps too proud to back down, or, maybe, tenacious as your Father before you had been.

Where have I been? Oh yes, in the babe’s change of fate! The little bundle inside a Valkyrie’s arms had been placed, her name and her glory great, her oath made and her wife embraced.

This child she would raise, with honour and courage until her dying days.

"He's beautiful" the would-be-mother breathed, her face slack with awe and previously harsh eyes brimming of love.

But do not mistake the King’s actions for kindness, my dearest, for the babe never kindness received.

The All-Father his helmeted head he shook, the baby’s image transformed an Aesir infant to resemble; moonlight paleness the icy blue away chased and green orbs the red eyes replaced.

“From my sight this child forever take! As an Aesir brought up it must be, as a Jötunn never to be seen." The grand King ordered and his horse forward urged.

The mothers anxious the baby took and in the forest fled, never in the city to return ever again. They ran and walked and the baby mothered, until into a budding village one day they stumbled. In a small cottage, just at the outskirts they settled and from then on their little family cherished.

Of course the two mothers the baby nourished and every important thing to their little Jötunn taught. However, never a warrior nor anything proud for an Aesir he came to be. Instead, the baby into a handsome young man turned, tall and lean, with seiðr of an evergreen gleam.

Tales of the Golden City every day he was told, from his mothers who had loved and adored him as the years passed; carding fingers strong through his waterfall of ink, affectionate kisses on moonlit cheeks caressed; tales of conquers and battles, of feasts and holidays, splendid and joyful in the crowded halls; tales of a great King and a beautiful Queen, of stolen relics and warriors of legend. 

The child, a curious thing he had been, brought up alone and full of sneer; never was he popular nor friends did he have, as the foolish Aesir his talents dread. Shunned and tormented our young protagonist had been, with dreams bigger than him and a mind exceeding anyone’s you’ve ever seen.

So, one early morning, fine as all the rest, but chilly in the winter’s test, his mothers’ cheeks he kissed, a letter on their little table he left and on his way for the town he trekked. Five days he walked and five nights in the forest floor slept, until, on the sixth’s noon, the trees slowly way made for the capital’s splendor.

On the unseen border he stood, wide-eyed and with wonder full the Aesir looked, happy and friendly as their rounds did.

All around him, vendor stalls stranded of colour beckoned; red, blue and green, yellow, lime, purple and orange, still; as if the rainbow on the stands had barfed.

Titter and chuckle, my children, just as the Jötunn did.

From the taverns dizzying smells waft and all around him the Aesir talked, strange faces in a strange world, such difference from what the Jötunn to know had come. They smiled and waved, his hands grabbed and on twirling dances they hauled. Laughing and singing they were cheerful most, drawing him in with their foolish jokes.

The Jötunn shined and the Jötunn rejoiced and for the first a great time had, dancing until his feet were sore and giggling until his lungs hurt. And the day’s eve, sat on a fountain’s brim found him, watching with a stretched lips as the Aesir lanterns in the air left.

Warmed up and fuzzy inside, he hadn’t noticed the man watching him for most of the night until a deep voice from over his shoulder spoke: “Don’t you have your own?”

The Jötunn startled, green eyes quickly fell on blue and for the first time, his breath had stalled, his witted tongue a knot had tied and his heart as if on a run had fallen. 

“Pardon?” he mumbled, inquiring a brow and the man smiled, showing teeth as white as the nicest pearl the Jötunn had earlier this day seen.

“A whishing lantern. Don’t you have one?”

“You will have to excuse me, I am not aware of this custom.”

“So, you aren’t from around.” the Jötunn his head shook as the man’s smile into a smarmy smirk transformed, “and here I was, wondering how I couldn’t have noticed a beauty such as you before.”

The Jötunn scoffed and his eyes rolled, but bright pink his delight showed.

“What is it for?” he asked, at the lanterns gesturing. “Is it something of import?”

The man’s eyes turned warm, liquid blue glancing at the floating lights and his voice into a soft timbre touched as on his feet he rose and a hand to the Jötunn extended. “Very much so. Won’t you come along in a quest to find your own?”

The Jötunn smiled and the light grasp accepted, up he stood and on the man’s height marveled, for it wasn’t oft one taller than his own self he met. The man obviously a warrior was, with a sturdy form of bulging muscles full and hair yellow as the warmest sun in twin plaited strands, wrapped in the deepest crimson cloak, and a fearsome warhammer on his hip tucked.

“Only if you show me the way, Warrior.” The Jötunn challenged and his hand felt getting tagged.

“Then come, for your wish before midnight strikes you must spell.”

They searched and they sought and random strangers they asked until, at last, there it was: the last lantern, barren of light but waiting with its small candle on the city market’s last stand, colourful in its fabrics wrapped.

“You are lucky, Stranger. Not but a great feat this had been to achieve this late into the night.” The Warrior chuckled and in the Jötunn’s hand his own slipped. “What say you, shall we light and release it yet?”

With childish expectation filled the Jötunn nodded and his grip on the warm palm tightened. For a fire lighter they scoured and on the edge of the Rainbow Bridge they stood.

“Now your eyes close and your deepest wish on the candle whisper.”

The Jötunn as was instructed did and on the flame his voice trembled, “I wish for things to never be the same again.” The little flicker for a moment soared and settled and the Jötunn the lantern in the air released, unbeknownst that his seiðr and the Gods’ malice his life would change.

Do you still want me to continue, my loves? Oh, look at you, huddled close together with eyes of anticipation full and undeterred as ever, I see. Yes, much as your Father and I had been.  Okay, then, but you’ve been warned. Thus, do not in our bed come in the night’s middle because silly fears this tale might birth.

The Warrior had smiled at the Jötunn then, watching him as the floating lantern he left and a flutter hold of his heart took. “Would you care to dance?” out of nowhere he asked when their way back in the town’s square they walked and our young man the Warrior’s hand once again into his he held, smiling as in a dance he was lead.

 _Could so easily into love one fall?_ The little Jötunn wondered while the Asgardian’s eyes on his own locked. _Surely not!_ However, what our little Jötunn felt, as close to that insane feeling as he had ever come was. They twirled and they smiled, heat always chilly skin warmed. _Maybe infatuation, surely enthusiasm; not love, not in an hour’s pass._

And as they danced and as they talked, their way to the centre they slowly made and it was then the Jötunn’s fate would forever change. His eyes an icy glow caught, successfully from the Warrior’s warm gaze stealing.

“What is this?” He asked and at once his feet stalled.

“What?” The Warrior inquired and when his eyes what had caught the little Jötunn’s interest saw, he huffed, smiling with pride and leading his partner near. “Oh, that! This is the reason we are celebrating tonight.” The Warrior informed, looking up at the relic.

In the very centre of the vast square, a golden pedestal stood, high as a tree and as the morning sky blue, the gleaming relic held. The Jötunn as if being spelled felt, to the fierce beauty drawn.

“A century and a half ago, our King victorious returned from the war against the Jötnar louts. This is the Casket of Ancient Winters and what as a spoil of war the King kept, distributing to his army all the rest.”

“Benevolent of him.” The Jötunn mumbled, the Casket feeling as if singing to him. “Does it always sing?” he asked and at the stranger with curiosity looked.

“The Casket doesn’t sing, maybe you are listening to my Warhammer; even though none except myself can listen to her. . .?”

“No, your hammer has another type of song; hers is that of battle and righteousness, worthiness, if I must say, but his. . . the Casket’s song is of cold and fear, survival and a love, etched as deep as his realm’s core.”

The Warrior between the relic and the Jötunn glanced, perplexed and awed, until the other noticed.

“Why are you looking at me such?”

“I just – it’s the first time somebody else can hear my hammer’s song. Are you a magic user, perhaps?”

The Jötunn recoiled then, his gaze turning icy and hurt as to the side his gaze averted. Memories of unending years that he had been harassed to his joyful mind came back, any semblance of happiness shattering at once. The Warrior scrambled what had been wrong to right and the Jötunn’s hand fast he held.

“It would be perfectly fine if you did, from my sight don’t hide.”

“What knows you, if I should hide or not?” The Jötunn snapped, annoyed of this man’s insistence.

But the Warrior no answer did he give, a step back wide-eyed took and his cloak from his hammer threw. “Why and how did you do that?” The Warrior demanded, any semblance of his previous friendliness having been lost. The warhammer in his hand flew and when the Jötunn glanced down a sight he never expected to see he met. There, in his very hands, the Casket was held. Hands that were slowly turning blue.

The Jötunn at a loss of words frozen stood, unable to explain, unable to think or inquire, his mind, storming sea of panicked half-thoughts.

The music ceased and the people gasped and gawked and the way for Asgard’s army tore.

“Hand the Casket over, Jötunn!” The King’s bellowing voice ordered and with his one eye at the poor Jötunn scowled.

“I didn’t mean to– Norns, I swear, I didn’t know! Please!” The Jötunn with fright plead, eyes red filling with dread.

The murmur of the crowd all around buzzed, insults in his ears fell and the King his spear raised, at the runtling Jötunn pointing before his voice every other shushed. “Once, I have allowed you to live, but if in my path again you trip, I won’t hesitate your life to still.”

The Jötunn nodded and on the Warrior’s chest the Casket he shoved. Bitter and ashamed this misleading town left and on the highest mountain off he went; forever his life alone to spend, free of any that his blue skin would hate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, me again~  
> This is a finished story and will be updated weekly as I still need to edit the rest. It was also meant to be put up on the 21st/Yule, but life happened and I just got to finish it a couple days ago. 
> 
> I hope you liked the first part!


	2. Inconvenient Friends and Unexpected Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years down the future,  
> the Jötunn still mends his suture.  
> Cold hearted and alone,  
> until an unexpected friend comes along.

Years flowed and time faded and the glorious people of Asgard their lighthearted lives maintained.

All but for one young outcast living high on the mountains above.

For centuries in the forest he haunted and his cave with skins and pelts and horns and spikes adorned, until an icy boulder it resembled; in likeness of both his fresh appearance and the coldness that over his little heart had swept, with its vicious bite replacing the homespun warmth. Left alone, his life lonely forever he was to live.

Only a trusted friend his side wouldn't leave.

Here, my little ones, insert a great black wolf, who once these mountains terrorized, until the moment injured in the Jötunn's path had stumbled, one breezy dusk.

Let’s call him Fenris, like your favourite pet, shall we?

Fenris wary the little Jötunn creeping in had watched, the deadly strike to land with woe expecting, but the young man a savage was not and a beast as glorious so cowardly to kill would not.

The Wolf’s life he spared, with his magic his sliced skin mended and back to health the creature with patience coaxed. And then, on his gloomy way started again; through the trees’ windy path, up in the mountains and inside his miserable little cave – or was that how his tortured soul felt it?

Three days and two nights passed before the Wolf’s unwelcomed presence he noticed.

 _Shoo_ he hissed and with his hands he gestured. To ignore him he tried and under snow he left him get buried. But, Fenris the Wolf, a stubborn beast proved to be. Outside the Jötunn’s cave he stayed, a little knoll with his snowed bulk created and little forlorn huffs and howls emitted.

The Jötunn the beast to ignore he tried, but the makeshift hill his door obscured and any light from the sun it hid, causing him more grouchy and slow to be. For our Jötunn a hermit might be but the rays dancing on his skin delightful had found to be.

 _That is enough of it!_ The Jötunn exasperated one noon when of the beast’s tenacious attitude enough he had. _At least the sun do not cover from me, you Beast!_ And Fenris its huge tail had waged and for the company gleeful in the cave had trotted, on the cold-hearted Jötunn’s side since then and forever to be glued.

Now, let’s change sides, my little ones. Down the future a few years let’s go – a decade, perhaps? Or two? That really knows who? Miles away from the little Jötunn’s place, back to the glorious city of Asgard and inside the palace’s golden spires where a young Prince in a shadowed antechamber on waiting was standing.

Heart pulsing something fierce and throat clogging on the mead. A crimson cape his broad shoulders adorning and a singing hammer in his strong fist he was holding. Anxiety on his back – a crippling little snake. Not even his weapon’s song to calm him could, for strong he had to seem and only smiles to give.  

On cheers the doors gave and his path to the throne he trudged. Façade coming up, thus his apprehension no one to understand. On bent knee he fell and at his Mother winked, but the blob in his throat wouldn’t give when met with his Father’s eye his own was. Emotion in the often cold blue eye and pride painted on the old man’s wrinkles he could see, as his King’s speech against the spires reverberated.

And when the King from his throne rose and down the steps he took, the Prince’s heart from stress felt it would give.

“My son, my rightful heir, from this moment this Realm’s order falls to-” However, the coronation on that day was not to be complete. “ _Jötunn._ ” Hissed the King and with his golden spear his army called near.

Confused the Prince on his feet instantly sprang, to his Father’s side in a breath to stand and his Warhammer in defense he held. The King out the halls and through the corridors walked, down staircase after staircase until to the lowest level with his guards they reached.

In to the guarded vault, countless treasured trophies and offerings in display stood and on the floor three Jötnar corpses lay. Spread around their precious little relic, a powerful sacrifice for its blessing.

Morbid, I know, sweetlings, but warned twice you have been and my warnings you did not heed.

So, there they stood, the young Prince and his old King, the damage appraising and the corpses to be removed waiting.

“That bastard Jötunn must have done it. We must chase him down and give him the punishment I should have delivered all those decades ago!”

The Prince frowned and a faded image in his mind was brought; a young man, not far from adolescence back then, bright eyed and sweet smiled, wondrous and hopeful, and then, terrified and teary eyed. A beauty all in his own. “Could he do such a traitorous thing?”

“He’s a Jötunn! An outcast! Of course the nation to bring down he would seek!” The King roared almost, whipping in step his naïve boy to face. “If to see that you cannot, then ready yet to rule you may not be!” Disappointment on his face downed and the Prince his eyes elsewhere moved – for his Father he couldn’t let the blinding relief fluttering in his chest to see.

“The Jötunn residing in the realm find and to your King bring him to kneel!” The King, his loyal peers ordered and back for his chambers turned.

From then on the army every crook and every cranny for months searched, but of the Jötunn neither sight nor hide found; the Prince most unsuccessful than most, on purpose. On fake trails his men lead and on hearsay tweaked. Misleading, evading, until with heavy hearts and empty hands back home they returned – all but one; the Prince himself.

The King was furious. For the importance of duty and the good of the kingdom, the safety of his people he preached, going on and on and so, upon the Prince his fury mostly put. Small a sacrifice it was – to his Father’s rant to listen – if the Prince’s infatuation hidden to stay was.

You are wondering why on such great lengths the Prince for the Jötunn went, surely. The Prince many a long days had spent, of the little Jötunn wondering if he was a threat. Alarmed and angry he had felt at first, until mistrust and confusion had seeped in, for the Jötunn truly bewildered and frightened seemed to be.

Curious to his Father's side he had taken, questions asking that never tolerated nor answered were: How did the Jötunn on Asgard come to be? Why as if the truth he didn't know looked to be? And most important of all, what did his Father meant when he said for a second time he allowed him to live?

"Child," the King's voice with annoyance had coloured at last, his son's eyes with anger met and in his words a threat was born. "This matter alone I ask you to leave. The Jötunn’s fate decided already is; if ever on my sight he comes to traipse at once captured and crisped he will be."

The Prince his mouth had shut and from that moment hence his skepticism for himself had kept. His budding feelings in fear had coveted and with longing for his little dear’s wellness he had wished.

So, you see, his bleeding heart to blame for his incompetence to follow the King’s commands was – what it craved it could not betray. Because sweeter smile such as the Jötunn’s he had never seen, nor eyes so green, and on a sliver of hope for decades the Prince’s desires were hang.

Foolish, wasn’t he?  On a single night and a feeling so feeble for so long to linger. . . _Tsk._

However, infatuation not a scheduled nor expectant feeling is. The heart choosing foolishly what it truly desires.

Anyhow, the Prince’s maneuvers the little Jötunn safe from the world for a while more would keep, at least for now.

From that night more years passed and the Jötunn still in conversations brought up was. Rumours as gossamer thin and tales as the fairies fake: 

_“They say he lives up there, in a big glacial cave and only comes down when the taste of flesh he craves!”_

_“Nice children you must be or else the Beast of J_ ö _tunnheim to get you will come!”_

_“Twenty feet tall he is and has teeth as daggers sharp!”_

_“The town in nights when the moon is waning he roams, for his next victim searching in the darkness, but not in your homes.”_

_“He takes people from the woods, feeding on them for days! Torturous is their death, delicious their flesh, not a particle of marrow to be found under the sun’s rays!”_

The Prince would scoff whence such lies his ears reached, to correct them would never try though and his eyes skyward in exasperation he would turn.

Lies. Such terrible lies all of them were spouting. Uncaring for what the truth had been. Reality forgetting. Ignorant of who the Jötunn had once been.

Unaware of how he had once with elation smiled – radiant, captivating.

True thief of the Prince’s heart.

 

* * *

 

“But, papa,” a quiet voice reluctantly starts, stealing the rare opportunity when their dam pauses for a sip of water. “The Jötunn didn’t really do all this stuff, did he?” the boy’s red eyes are open wide, wondrous and curious at the same time, but the man can clearly see the hint of fear his little one is trying to hide.

Maybe he should mellow the tale even more for their ignorant ears, or else his bed with little feet, tiny arms and scared eyes crowded this night he shall expect to be. And their unintentional kicking and pushing his husband might withstand, but he, in this very pregnant state of his, surely would not.

Well, he is already withholding most of the darkness, nothing bad will come from a little more lighthearted foolishness.

“Oh, my little Archer,” he moves to stand before the sitting child, carding his pale fingers through his son’s golden tresses. “Of course not, the Jötnar aren’t savages. This is simply a tale.”

A reassuring smile slips upon his lips and his stomach’s fluttering at once eases when his son with brave conviction nods at him. He takes a seat in his favoured wingback chair and with his prolific voice, he resumes the storytelling.

 

* * *

 

On the mountains high, the Jötunn from a nap one bright afternoon was startled. Crimson eyes with confusion filling and a grumble his dark lips exceeding. Fenris’ ears twitched and with an annoyed huff his master’s hair ruffled.

“Them again? A glance of the disgusting Jötunn they seek to steal anew?” The Jötunn murmured, deft fingers an outside image conjured, watching the gaggle of Aesir that on the path up the mountain were trudging. “My sweet Fenris, ‘tis time for a good ol’ scare, don’t you think?” He said and from his lean body the quilt roughly away shoved. “I’ve been much too tolerant of these Aesir fools,” he seethed. “Traipsing in my territory; my warnings never heeding! Happy in their gleaming little capital they should have stayed and my home never should they have bothered. ”

A flourished motion on his feet propelled him and a black talon’s slice of the air on the cave’s entrance took him. “Let’s chase them my friend. A lesson to these forests never to return let us bestow upon them.

A deep breath in his lungs the Jötunn took, in a second a vulture to resemble his body willed and above the Wolf in the skies flew, with glee watching as the Aesir twits away scrambled, screaming high for the entire realm to hear.

Fenris growled while with his massive build he shook the trees; the Sorcerer shrilly shrieked and on the Aesir’s heels he dove to tweak.

Once the Jötunn back to his blue self returned along with Fenris just a little ways from the outskirts of town stood. Hidden behind the shadows the large trees cast and in silence they watched as the Asgardians in joy laughed – completely ignoring the few that scared were from their wits.

On his lithe feet the Jötunn twirled, a cloak around his frame swished such a dark a green as the forest under the moonlight’s beam. Pale flesh his blue replaced and mossy green his crimson eyes chased. “Let’s go further in, my Beast. Let’s go see what the cowards are up to in this time of the year.” A dark shawl over his face he pulled, his nose and lips from the world obscuring and at a single snap of elegant fingers, the beastly Wolf to a pet canine transformed.

Inside the capital’s limits they sauntered, from the Gatekeeper’s and the King’s gazes unseen.

The city of Asgard decorated in festivity had been. All around celebratory colours of Jól; red and green and blue, silver and golden of course, too. Candy canes and gingerbread from garlands of evergreen hang limp, every lamppost and every door to adorn, every window to frame; the air sugary sweet on the Jötunn’s tongue lingered and in his nostrils delectably twirled. Lanterns of gold and blue above their heads every street crossed and Aesir women in their heavy skirts with their delicious foods the people to their stands lured.

“Look at them, careless of the terrors lying in wait, unobservant of dangers ready to befall and all the while those hideous garlands in merry they hung. How sickening, on silly tradition so attached to be, their whole lives around it to turn. And what for? For a cruel God’s whims.” The Jötunn on the ground spat, with malice at the Aesir all around sneered. “So merry! So candidly free!”

With colourful wools the market overflowed, books and trinkets, silly kids’ toys and cloaks, and underneath their feet the snow crunched, as a pillow soft with the All-Mother’s magic maintained, to an icy slide not to turn.

On a golden lantern with his pale hand the Jötunn tugged and a miserable poke on his frozen heart jabbed. “Ridiculous,” he grumbled and on his feet pivoted, cold naked fingers on the nearest book stand dancing, caressing the hard covers, flipping through their worn pages.

Of course, never things easy for the Jötunn had been, meant from the beginning it was, this little escapade of his, that unnoticed would not go. Thus, with his covered nose inside a book and while munching on a minty candy cane, ‘twas how the Prince took notice of him – shush, kids, smother your excited gasps and listen closely for the fool this man was.

The Prince through the town had been wandering. With melancholy tainting his heart, the people he would one day rule observed when on a tall figure his gaze was magnetized. _Surely it cannot be_ , he thought, _an uncanny resemblance it surely is_.

But, his feet as if spelled, near the shrouded person took him. On a pause he stuttered, his breath from his warm lungs escaped and, even though the figure half of their face had hidden, in that moment, fully certain he was.

For such eyes the Prince never on another being had seen; as clear a green as the spring’s first leaves, intelligence sparkling within as line after line the person read.

The Prince nearly gasped, from his trance the Jötunn dragged and those green eyes, that for decades he had missed, upon his own landed. The book closed thudded and with surprise it was that the Jötunn on the Prince’s face looked. Recognition like a thunder’s clap struck.

“It’s you,” the Warrior whispered in awe, blinding smile on his lips registered, but, it was no sooner than a moment past, the screams of children near them from their stupor shook and, in an instant, on his feet the Jötunn ran. “No, wait!” the Prince called and on his heels went.

The Jötunn tall might be, with legs long and fit that any warrior would shame and mind a cunning thrill, but the Prince his precious hammer had and with a single twist and turn in the air jumped and in front of the Jötunn landed, his arm on a slippery palm quickly grasping. To an alley’s shadows slipping them both inside.

The Jötunn to escape tried; in the Warrior’s hold roughly thrashed, his teeth together gnashed – blunt as any Asgardian’s – and on his black talons to cut him tried. But the man too strong was, caging him against stone from the building’s wall. To the Sorcerer’s arms he tried to hold until Fenris growled and threateningly to the Prince’s side closed.

“I only want to talk!” The Prince exclaimed and a step back took, the hammer dropping at once on the floor. “A moment, please – _please_ , hear me out.”

The Jötunn hissed, but to his Wolf reluctantly he signaled, his arms across his chest banded and with lips tight the man from head to toe checked.

The man from all those years past surely he was; tall and broad and strong, a warrior all in all. His cloak crimson red still was and the fur crisp white, a backdrop nice for the golden hair that from his shoulders fell past. And, akin to that horrible night – that both most joyful and terrifying of the Jötunn’s life was – the Warrior as from a dream beautiful was.

“Please, Stranger, I must warn you.” The Prince plead and in a safe distance from the vicious dog his body held. 

“A minute I shall grant and, when it’s past, from your sight I must depart.”

The Prince’s heart bled; how could a minute such deeply etched longing soothe?

“Four years ago the palace breached was,” the Jötunn’s gaze for hints of recognition or guilt sought out. “Jötnar to reclaim the Casket of Ancient winters tried.”

Humorless laughter from the Jötunn’s lips spilled and his eyes with derision filled. “Oh, let me guess; who else could have orchestrated it if not Asgard’s very own Jötunn, eh?” He sneered, from Aesir white to his Jötunn body within a blink returned and the shawl from his face ripped.

“No.” Heaved the Warrior, taken by surprise.

“No?” The Jötunn in confusion his head tilted, his eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that what happened?” he taunted.

The Warrior huffed and his eyes for a second closed, blood’s red when he blinked them they met. “It is and the King before him for punishment ordered you to be bought. But it isn’t what I believe.”

“Why?” The Jötunn sneered, lips a venomous split on his face did. “Haven’t you heard, little Warrior, of the Jötunn that on Aesir flesh feeds? Why should such a creature from revenge be derailed?”

“Because,” the Prince drawled, closer leaning so his words in the Jötunn’s face and, with a disgustingly charming smile, he could whisper, “if said Jötunn was truly behind the attack, the Casket in his hands from that moment hence would be.”

The Jötunn awkwardly licked on his lips and a tiny moan of pain hid – for his freezing icy heart a vicious tug gave. Panic surged in his mind.

“True enough that. Now, if you will excuse us, I believe my graciousness you’ve exceeded.”

And in a flurry of wind both the Jötunn and the Wolf from the Prince’s eyes vanished.

Within a moment standing before his cave’s door, the Sorcerer the Prince’s words in his mind pondered.

“So, to capture me they seek.” The Jötunn scorned, smirking at Fenris’ answering huff. “Dream-walking oafs, the lot of them.”

As if he would let them near him to get. As so stupidly with the Warrior had done. No one to be trusted was, he had taken that lesson soon enough- since just a little kid he had been, honest if he wanted to be. But no, holed up in his cave he couldn’t stay and the dimwits allow come to him – magic barriers or not.

“Oh, noooo, no, no.” he tutted, smiling to himself when to think he begun how all a lesson he would teach. With jaw tight, in the distance and way above the city stood, in his mind a plan intricately wove.

Mischief in his eyes shone and with smugness at Fenris looked.

“A goody old fellow I’ll be; to them I’ll go, but on my own will.”

And the Prince’s smile to forget he would try and if thus he could not do, then from his face to wipe it he would.

Afraid he was not, not any more.

 


	3. Chaos Shall Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days of Jól  
> fearfull become for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics used are from Scottish song - [Auld Lang Syne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1ygZIcJekk) and Led Zeppelin's - [Battle Of Evermore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_3yDImIQYU)
> 
> I highly recommend to be listening to Auld Land Syne while reading "Day 7"

It was on the 1st day of the 12th month of the year when things a turn for the peculiar had taken, right here. A couple of days had only been from the Jötunn’s stroll in the forbidden citadel – unexpected yet wonderful – when out of nowhere unluckiness the town struck.

A series of unfortunate events would have been for sure if not for the 15th’s happenings when finally clear for the Prince it was that behind all the Jötunn from the start was.

But before to that we end up, the month’s events allow me to sum up.

On the 1st day of Jól, the Prince’s true love his sabotaging schemes commenced.

The whole of Asgard in Glaðsheimr’s hall was gathered, their gossip and chatter all the way up to the golden spires reached. Drinking from golden cups their mead and sweet milk, merry and jolly around the Jól Log frolicking, voices canorous with cheer as for the King’s entrance with anticipation awaited.

The holidays’ rollicking all of the ranks to bring together in a strange blend had managed; parents with warriors their cups in friendly cheer clanged, peasants and nobles sharing a laugh or two, the children together they all hide-and-seek played and, of course, like always in their midst the Prince with ease mingled.

He smiled and laughed and unenthusiastically with fair maidens and eye-pleasing lads flirted, but he whom the Prince desired this evening absent was to be. But the Prince all of this with half a heart took in. Despondent sighs and fruitless looks to the people filling his home he shot and no matter that which best he knew, in his chest the shimmer of hope would not snuff out for his coveted beau.

The King finally his entrance made, under his people cheerful shouts and applause and from upon his throne with voice strong addressed them:

“Asgardians, we have once again come upon the month of Jól; a period of festivity and love!” The King with a rare smile on his stern face spoke. “‘Tis the time our ancestors to honour and to Nature’s Norns our dues to make! Every disappointment that this year brought us let’s forget and with one another let’s share our glee!” On the Prince his icy blue eye fell and warmth allowed inside it for a moment to bloom.

The Prince his head bowed and on a bowl with water his hands cleaned, before with reverence the torch made from last year’s Jól’s Log from his Father proffered hands accepted. Slow steps through the crowd from the throne’s dais took him, until in front of the high hearth with reverence he stood. Beside the hearth, like every year, the Eternal Flame in its golden bowl stood and, like every year, the torch inside it the Prince tipped, igniting from it the new Holy Log alight. 

“From this moment hence, the Jól’s celebrations commence!” Shouted the King.

The Aesir rejoiced, in the air flicking their hats and to the Prince’s back congratulatory pats delivered.

The Holy Log – helped from the King’s seiðr – for the rest of the celebrations slowly was to burn, to and from the Winter Solstice the people of Asgard to keep warm.

However, the Jötunn other plans for it he had.

The fire peacefully on the great trunk ate, but not a single churn on the wood appeared and the celebration around its rounded hearth immediately its peak reached; the Aesir’s raucous voices and joyful singing the room filled, more mead poured and more stories were said and when on dance most of them were dragged, a glamoured figure beside the fire was to stand, unseen by all, but from the Prince most of all.

Ancient spells in a cold whisper formed and the Jötunn’s lips in the air billowed. The Log they circled, deep inside its trunk resided and in a heart’s beat the Log in ashes collapsed.

Silence fell in the room, every face its joy lost; horror slowly their surprise replaced and the Jötunn on gleeful malice pridefully chuckled.

I know, sweet hearts, you are wondering how cruel the Jötunn truly must have been, the Log the Asgardians had chosen and prepared with such diligence, to disintegrate on a moment’s whim. The truth this is: he simply did not give a flying care.

Yet, this only the start of his wicked plans was. . .

On the 2nd day of Jól, the Prince’s true love a decaying spell casted over the city; the wreaths circling every lamppost, framing every window and decorating every mantle withered on their tiny twigs; every bundle of mistletoe its leaves and berries on the floor littered and all the holy right on place blackened and crumbled, as if the winter’s very frost, upon them for unending days had touched.

On the 3rd day of Jól, the Prince’s true love all the boars in the forest with invisibility veiled. Thus, when the Asgardians in the woods their canines and eagles let loose, empty handed to their homes returned, thus the preparations for the Jól’s feast putting on hold, for ever more.

On the 4th day of Jól, the Prince’s true love under the people very noses the Jól’s Grain stole, every cellar and every granary from the overflowing burlaps disburden. The very last grains of wheat the Asgardians with perseverance had gathered and stored until, in the day of the Winter Solstice, to Glaðsheimr the shacks would have been moved, along with the ale to be consumed.

On the 5th day of Jól, the Prince’s true love at every barrel of ale drilled holes, late into the night so as no Asgardian to catch him would be able and in the day slowly on the stone floors to drip allowed until the city of ale had ran out. The brewmasters their hats over their chests crumbled and calloused fingers through their hair weaved, and in despair, until they hurt tugged.

Maybe the turn of chance or perhaps a little bad luck it was, but the 6th day uproar over the town spread, murmurs about jinxes and whispers from mouth to mouth full of superstitions.

On the 6th day of Jól, the Prince’s true love upon Huginn and Muninn a bewitchment threw; from their nap not awaken, no matter what, to be. The old King the curse to undo with his magic had tried, but his trusted pets to awareness would not fly. With heavy heart of stone on his majestic stead he rode and off along his army and son to fight the undead went. A symbol for the Goodness’ fight against Evil – the King’s win a foretoken for a peaceful year it would have been.

However, the crows the Jötunn’s only victims were not, for when the royal battalion to Helheimr’s passageway reached not a single undead had risen, bespelled as they were in their slumber for another year to rest.

For a full day, on the ready they waited, taken over by confusion the barren lands inspected.

“A bad omen.” The warriors started whispering between them, apprehensive looks at their King and Prince directed and the sweat from their foreheads wiped.

“What is it to be done, now, Father?” Asked the Prince.

“Until the sun has risen for the draugar we will wait.”

The draugar never from the land of the dead rose, though, and the Wild Hunt never that year place took. The army, inconsolable and scared for what the future might hold, to their homes slowly their way made. To their mother’s they wailed and in their spouses’ arms inside they hid, but most of all the King furious at his crows – who freshly awaken were – yelled.

The Prince already suspicious was, but never these suspicions to come out true he expected, until that very day.

Traditionally, on the 7th day of the 12th month the town’s beloved choir to the streets would take, from door to door they would knock and with their canorous voices carols would sing. Something that were not to happen on that 7th day of that 12th month.

The Prince dejected, melancholic, his town’s streets aimlessly walked. All around pogonip swallowing up even the sun’s blond in that bleak winter day. Deserted the alleys were and the taverns empty. The market barren, from people and goods, like skeletons in the distance stood. And as the lampposts blurred crowns of light inside the fog created, it could possibly the creepiest thing be that the Prince had ever seen.

No person out in the streets walked, all huddled to their homes inside, away sleeping their woes and the unfortunate eerie feelings.

Hold your breaths, my children and listen closely, for in the bizarre quietude a voice singing you can hear – it’s sinister and ghostly, and the notes through every nook and every cranny they shook, caressing on stone, kissing on the wood and it sings:

_For old times since, my dear,_

_for good old times,_

_we'll drink a cup of kindness yet,_

_for good old times._

_And there’s a hand my trusty friend!_

_And give us a hand o’ thine!_

_And we’ll take a right good-will draught,_

_for good old-_

_“–times.”_

Crimson eyes before the Prince’s very nose appeared, sparkling almost in the evening’s gloom. Talons black as night, sharp as knives on his throat’s warm flesh pressed.

“Give me, Prince, a single reason your throat not to slit.”

The Prince’s heart like a rabbit’s beat, but his jaw squared and a halting breath inhaled.

“Your single ally in this town in a moment you would lose and, if your life spared was before, there would not a single place be where safe you could live; hunted from them brave fools.”

The Jötunn tilted his head, his smirk upon the Prince lingered. “You think that good enough reason to be,” said he, whilst his nails a line down the Prince’s neck cut and the Jötunn with distaste whispered, “to an outcast such as me?”

“Better even,” whispered back the Prince and with a quick arm the Jötunn against his own flank in an embrace pulled.

“What are you–”

“Tell me, little Jötunn, is it you behind Asgard’s poor luck?”

The Jötunn unsteadily exhaled as the Prince’s sky-like gaze his own met.

“If even a little of whit in your handsome head possess, an answer from me you will not need.”

The Prince shook his head, on the Jötunn longingly he looked. “No other it could be.”

The Jötunn laughed, a tinge of madness seeping in and, from his Warrior’s hold, free twirled.

“Well done, my Prince! I believe a reward is in order.” He clapped in fake mirth, the Warrior’s seeking hands escaping.

“What reward?” The Prince the Jötunn followed, in his hold again trying to bring him.

A slender finger on the Jötunn’s blue chin tap-tapped, crimson eyes in thought narrowed and on his thin lips slipped a mischievous grin.

“The 7th day of the 12th month, carol and song demands.” He recited and his slender hand on the Prince’s cheek caressed, his melodic voice carrying him away as to the Prince he sung:

_The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom_

_and walked the night alone._

_Oh, dance in the dark of night,_

_sing to the morning light._

_The dark Lord rides in force tonight._

The Prince pensive watched as the Jötunn step by step in the fog dispersed, until his form from sight departed and his voice in an embracing murmur over him crawled.

_And time. . .will tell us. . . all._

On the 7th day of Jól, the Prince’s true love gave to him a private recital and unexpected proof.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi~  
> Did you like it? have any thoughts? hit me up in the comment section, I'd love to hear it ♥  
> See you ~ ^.~
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary:  
> Jól – Yule  
> Jólfaðr – Odin, Father Yule  
> Pogonip – a dense winter fog containing frozen particles


	4. Rendezvous On Your Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trick after trick the Jötunn on the Prince he lands,  
> until one day enough our Warrior has.

All throughout the 8th day of Jól to the 10th, nothing fairly bad happened and the Prince thought his true love had gifted him with the ceasing of his unfortunate designs.

Stupidly he did think so, sweetness, for when a couple of fine days he had and his people watched slowly back into their good mood returning.

However, on the 11th day of Jól, the Prince's true love gave to him a vicious headache.

It all started in the morning when the Prince woke up with unease poking at his mind's back. Restless he was through breakfast, apprehensive for the nature of what at him was nagging.

As if on instinct to the stables he was driven, the soothing company of his pets seeking. Instead, an empty pen he found. No fur nor horn anywhere to be seen. None he asked had seen nor heard a thing. But the Prince knew best; for his beloved’s signature written all over the strange disappearance with bold penmanship was.

His lips he nibbled, his mind through thoughts swirled and on the snowed ground of the royal gardens a path he plowed. Choices, possibilities, chances and worries all in his mind bothered and in the end on a single solution he came: to his dear Mother a visit he should pay.

Mother, bless her soul, her regal head nodded, her swift tongue at her son’s peculiar predicament tutted and from her soft lips the simplest answer to his problems gave.

That night when the Prince went to bed, anticipation his heart made flutter. Upon his luscious furs he twisted and he turned for the entire night and in the morning his hunting armour’s leathers downed and on to find his prey started.

On the 12th day of Jól the Prince’s true love gave to him an unexpected quest.

The day’s dawn on the winding paths of the forest found him, eagerly his way through the shrubbery and the wild life making, disregarding of anything that attention from his purpose could steal – not that anything this fool’s mind from his hunt could release.

Forward his mind stale memories brought. Memories of whispered tales, baseless chatter and subtle trails left in the vastness of Asgard’s woodlands, indicating to his target’s whereabouts.

A whole day airborne he traveled and on foot for the rest of the night he went. The wind beat merciless around him, under his furs and leathers sneaking and his bones chilling. He wouldn’t rest, though, until his destination he would reach.

And then, when just a little after midnight, upon a frozen lake stumbled, with the sight of a maiden much akin to a nymph was met. Sat on the edge she was, red like fire her hair in the moonlight shone and white like the snow surrounding them her skin. Emerald and shimmering was her gown, translucent almost, and grassy green her eyes and if the Prince’s heart already to another hadn’t belonged, smitten upon first sight he would be.

But no creature to his heart’s chosen could compare and while the woman a comely sight made indeed, to his Jötunn she could never come to measure.

“Good evening, traveler,” her voice like honey dripped, her fingers like feathers on the ice patterns drew, “what is it that you seek and so far from home in such a weather brings you? Aren’t you aware of the terror living in these mountains?”

“I come in search of that exact terror. Is it possible information of his whereabouts you would provide, fair maiden?”

“Hmm,” she hummed, eyes downcast and tilt strange on her lips, “is someone finally going to take care of that?” in something disquieting her eyes gleamed. “In fear we have lived for many a cruel years.”

The Prince his jaw tightened, merely from lashing out he held back.

“Honestly, no.” He snarled almost. “Tell, me now woman, do you know where the Jötunn resides?”

The woman long, taloned fingers tapped against her chin as again her breath on a hum sung. On swift feet she rose, her curls like a fiery waterfall over her shoulders dropped and to the Prince slowly she walked. Forward on her feet she leant, her face upwards to the Prince’s she tilted and with alluring, cunning eyes at him she glanced.

“What if I do, Warrior? What is it there for me to gain, if, to slay the beast, you are not here for?”

“If willing to give me information you are not, then sweet be your night.” Growled the Prince; his beloved a beast was not!

On his way he made to walk, but by her thin hand was stopped; strangely black talons through the fishnet of his armour on his skin nudged.

“Calm your hackles, Warrior, I mean you no harm.” Her voice low was, sweetly on every syllable dragging, heady was her gaze.

"Of your touch be mindful, woman, to another I belong." her adventurous hand in his strong hold caught and from his chest away chased it.

“Oh?” genuine confusion in the green of her eyes shone. “How truly peculiar! No ring of oath I notice on your finger nor a lock of love with your hair tangled. Are you betrothed, perhaps? ”

What a bizarre question to ask and after he just scolded her! The Prince with wary looked at her, mindful of his words.

“No, but soon I will be.”

“Mm, shame. How boring.” Her pout genuine seemed to be, a tint of sadness on her face swirled – if I might say. But soon a smirk pulled on her lips, venom bit her tongue. “Your prey 70 miles north, high up on that mountain resides.”

“Thank you, fair lady.” The Prince bowed, his manners remembering. From her strange behavior perplexed and perturbed

“Thank _you_ , my Prince.” The whisper on his ear tickled and his attention snapped, chilly wind on his cape picked, but the woman from his sight suddenly was gone.

Shocked over the frozen lake for a moment longer he stood, before his head he shook. The next dawn fast was approaching and to the Jötunn’s lair soon would like to be, so his hammer the Prince twirled and on the skies he took.

Three and a half hours of flying later and there he stood; on the doorstep of his beloved’s home. Anxiously his heart fervently beat, perspiration his palms wet; he was nervous so!

On the icy blue door after long minutes he rap-rapped, with a deep breath his self tried to calm but, when the door open abruptly flown t’was, not the Jötunn was who welcomed him so, but a beastly raven wolf!

To this day, if the Prince is asked, the undignified shriek he will deny.

But, yes, darlings, the Prince like a child did scream and from the edge almost plummeted in his shock!

The Jötunn gleefully from behind Fenris laughed and soon tears from his eyes wiped; to think the all-fearless Warrior-Prince scared like this he would get to see – priceless a sight it really was.

“Laugh my embarrassment away, you little minx,” the Prince grumbled, but the smile on his face a different story told. Happy he was to hear this melodious laugh and the crimson eyes to see sparkling in truthful glee.

“What is your business here, Warrior? Why so early from my slumber you have risen me?”

“I’ve come to have a word. Aren’t you going to be a nice host?”

“Oh, forgive me, my Prince, I must have forgotten my manners.” The Jötunn in faux remorse smiled, to the side with a sarcastic bow stepped. And when the Prince grinned and the threshold tried to cross, on his face the door was closed.

“Ow.” He groaned in pain, his bleeding nose in a palm held and a stinky eye to the Jötunn glared. “Very mature of you.”

The Jötunn pearly teeth on a snarl bared and to the Prince’s face his own close threateningly brought,

“No Aesir is welcome to my home. If a word with me is what you want, then here you must talk.” Hissed the Jötunn. “Now, tell me, Prince, what is it that you seek?”

The Prince huffed and puffed and, in the end, the Jötunn to the mountain’s side trapped.

“How dare you! Unhand me this instance you brute!”

The Prince smiled tightly, the slippery little snake holding against the hard rock. On his bony shoulder pushing one hand, and the other in his emerald tunic wrapped securely.

“You know very well, what I want, you little trickster; Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr’s immediate return I demand!”

The Jötunn, seemingly uninterested, on a black talon inspected, acting as if to the Prince’s close proximity no care gave. “Tanngrisnir? Tanngnjóstr? Who are those? For certain, no harlot of yours did I ever took.”

If appalled from those words he hadn’t been, perhaps, the tint of jealousy residing in his Jötunn’s words he might have caught. But alas, our Prince short of sight and slow of mind had always been.

Disgust on his face morphed and flinching away he exclaimed his repulsion. “Ew, no!”

“No?”

“No, they are my pet goats and you know it well, Trickster! Now, return them safely to their barn!”

A huff the Jötunn set free and with an impressive roll of his eyes the Prince from the front of his furs pulled forward, so to his ear he could whisper:

“If your goats back you want, a deal with you I would strike.” Dizzying was his body’s heat, heady his breath on the Prince’s skin. A spell upon his heart all in its own.

“What is it that you want?”

The Jötunn’s hand softly on his Prince’s neck caressed and then sweetly his demands made known. “For the safe return of your precious goats, I ask for the King’s other eye.”

The Prince snorted and from the Jötunn’s spell away drew.

“Don’t jest. Already you know to that I would never consent.”

Leaning back on the rocky mountainside, the Jötunn smirked and an inky curl around his forefinger twirled. “Is this the limit of your willingness, Warrior?”

Again, a step forward the Prince took and between his arms his darling caught. Narrow was his waist, chilly the skin under his clothes. “Anything else you might ask for, little minx, and you will have. However, do not ask of me, disloyal to my kin to be.”

His head the Jötunn to the side tilted, his aquamarine neck to the Prince’s sight revealing as he thought of what he most wanted.

Perhaps, if for the Prince’s hand in marriage he asked, denied he wouldn’t be. Perhaps the Prince idiotically his own self and Asgard’s future for his pets would sacrifice. And perhaps, even a tiny chance there could be, for the Jotunn that which he desired most in his life for once to have.

However, that something he could never truly have was and thus with a nice replacement he had to comply.

The Jötunn long and hard thought and in the end his Prince’s eyes with mischief in his own met.

“The great wizard Erusion’s amulet. Find it and bring it to me.” An order his words were, wicked the tilt on his lips.  

The Prince hummed in agreement. “If I do this, my goats you will return and. . .” his brilliant blue eyes sparkling in matching mischief, he said, “to the celebration of Jól you will have to come.”

The Jötunn mockingly chuckled. “Why to a silly celebration would I willingly come, full of equally half of wit Aesir?”

“Because I want you to.” The Prince answered with ease.

“And let me guess; whatever the Prince wants, the Prince gets.” The Jötunn scoffed and away he tried to push him, finally, but the strong muscled chest wouldn’t budge.

“That is one way to put it, yes.” The Prince smiled and against a blue cheek his lips dragged.

“The other?” Asked the Jötunn, short of breath.

“The other is that I want you to give us all a chance to welcome you and show you how nice we can be.”

“Certainly you jest!”

“Nay, I do not. And if your precious amulet you want, then this is what you have to do.”

The Jötunn his chances and all the ways out of this situation he could get considered. However, his schemes, with the pleasure of a successfully convoluted plan would only grant him (and too many possible foes if word of the instigator’s identity ever got out).

And while satisfying was to know he could freely under the King’s and his peers’ noses act, what the Prince asked for demanded of little effort from the Jötunn’s side and that way with priceless gain he would come out, such as no one had ever seen.

Should he take up the Prince’s offer or should his annoying project carry on and such an exclusive reward lose?

_Hmm, decisions, decisions._

Well, it wasn’t as if the Prince successful in his quest would be. 

“To your terms I agree.” Through gritted teeth, in the end, his consent gave. The smile with which the Prince bestowed him was blinding to say the least.

“We better seal the deal with a string of magic then, Trickster.”

“Why, my Prince, my word simply won’t you trust?” A mischievous smile slithered upon his dark blue lips and from beneath his eyelashes at the Prince coyly looked.

“Not as far as I can throw you and, believe me, it is very far a distance.”

“Aw, you wound me.” Long, thin fingers fluttered against the Sorcerer’s chest, his green tunic rustled on his touch and his talons’ pull as the Prince smiled and with a finger a kin-line on the Jötunn’s chin traced.

The warrior his beloved’s lips in a chaste hold kissed, immediately magic binding them to their deal felt.

“Certainly you will heal.” He breathed and on these words and with a smile it was that his Warhammer this time spun and off to a new adventure launched.

On the 13th day of Jól, the Prince’s true love gave to him another unexpected quest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a week late. I know I'm sorry~ orz  
> I had to work without a free weekend but right now I am back ♥
> 
> Chapter summary and title is lame. I'm tired and its late.  
> (oh look it rhymes! xD)
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting, means a lot♥


	5. Trouble For Your Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through Vanaheimr's calming green  
> and Svartálfheimr's creeping night;  
> in Álfheimr's luring scents  
> and Múspellsheimr’s firey pits,  
> the Prince will travel through,  
> if the map to the Jötunn’s heart he might find.

“Papa,” a tiny voice draws Loki’s notice to the bright crimson of his boy’s eyes. It has him thinking back his `story, going through his words and clues – did he reveal too much? He had been careful enough. This can’t be. Perhaps his little angel simply is so smart he caught on before the rest did.

“Yes, sweetness?” he asks, tight smile pulling on his lips.

“Did the Jötunn steal Dad’s goats?” Ivar asks, his eyes open wide in childish innocence, little rosy lips parted in question. Yes, Loki’s little boy is simply so brilliant.

Loki tries to play it off, chuckling lightly and ruffling the boy’s smooth blond hair. “No, of course not, their silly names were only the first thing to come in mind.”

“Mm. . .” the boy hums in contemplation, not entirely certain of his dam’s truthfulness. There’s a gleam in his crimson eyes that Loki is well acquainted with. A gleam usually residing in his father’s eyes, veiled under layers of carefully put-together golden virtue.

“Now, if you don’t mind, you little intermitter, should I finish the story or without its end in your beds should you go?” he snaps gently, pinching a rosy cheek. He really doesn’t like it when his storytelling gets interrupted or his scenarios revealed before the moment’s right. In addition to all that, the babe is making him irritable as of late, there isn’t enough patience inside him and what little dredges of it he has he has given them free-handedly to his family earlier this evening, when they were running around the palace, wrecking havoc with their growing powers. Hmm, perhaps he should leave them without revealing who the protagonists in his story are; this certainly will drive them crazy with questions.

The kids all their heads shake, zipping motions over their mouths do and their dam’s mischievous smirk with bright coloured gazes innocently meet.

“Where were we?” Loki hums and, with a wave of his hand, the illusion around them resumes.

 

* * *

 

On the 13 th  day of the 12  th  month of Jól, the Prince his search for the great wizard’s amulet commenced. Firstly, back to Asgard’s enormous libraries he had to return and again his dear Mother’s insight to seek.

A great help, the Queen as always was, through weighty magic tomes helping him and on his side like an all-knowing scholar standing, reprimanding to her son’s wrist snapping whenever his thought to his snarking darling veered.

Until the dawn of the 14 th  day, the royal duet a list of ingredients had managed together to put and off again the Prince on his mission was; the Jötunn‘s heart to conquer.

First to Vanaheimr he landed and two entire days crawling through thick and prickly shrubbery he spent, the rare ingredients in a try to assemble. Poop of gnome and a white bat’s bone, moss from the biggest rock in the sea and fungus from the Eternal Tree. In a brawl for an Elfin man’s tooth he got into and a crimson feather from the royal peacock plucked.

Another two days, spent on Svartálfheimr, closer to the 17 th  of Jól brought him, the moons rose and fell while the realm he scoured for the Black of Night and a Svartálf’s ear, egg of ostrichcat and blood of dark, blood-sucking boar.

The Prince a note to self upon leaving the realm made; never on this forsaken grounds his foot again to place.

The 18 th  day of Jól, the sun on Álfheimr found him, his head on a wall bashing for, what he needed to get from there, awkward enough it made him feel and when he timidly asked for it, several slaps reddened upon his cheeks.

In the end, a sweet young woman, much like the lake’s nymph, pity on the Prince took and a small bottle from thin air conjured.

“Stranger, your sincerity my heart has moved.” She said, with gentleness at the Prince’s worn face she looked. “However, very careful of the vial you have to be, for in dark magic used for evil it can be. I hope your love finally to get and out from your quest alive and successful to come.”

The Prince would surely never forget the day that for virgin’s blood he had to prey.

Back home to the golden palace he scrambled. Soles sliding upon the marble as his rushed steps to the Queen’s solarium led him; on her wooden table scattered his hard-won possessions, patiently waiting for her machinations.

Mother into work quickly out him; to scrabble and squeeze and in her age-old cauldron everything together to stir.

From brown to red and green, the potion tint changed one after another, a whirlwind of colours as into blue and pink and purple it shifted. When the Pince’s hand had started cramping and his tired muscles had started hurting, ready it finally was and his handsome face smoked by a shimmering puff of teal was.

A single drop from the mixture all it took was and after a heartbeat’s thump, upon the Queen’s holographic map there appeared a brilliant mark.

That night, through Múspellsheimr’s heated lands the Prince traipsed, Surtr’s fiery sword with his Warhammer to fight and an eye to the sword’s tip from himself to deprive. When clear was the way and through the confusing burning maze he could get, at long last before the legendary amulet proud and bleeding he could stand.

A great stone that amulet ‘twas, core vibrant of emerald and the edge a blur of crimson and black. Fit indeed for the Jötunn’s dual skin or midnight hair. . .

A thought in his mind suddenly was contrived.

Thus, the 19 th  of the 12  th  month of Jól to Ni _ð_ avellir’s legendary workshops found him. His friends the Dwarves he met and in their trusty hands the amulet with care entrusted. And when later, into the evening, a wooden box in his hands was held, the Prince with haste thanked his friends and with impatience for the Jötunn’s lair begun.

Unbothered of his rough appearance, yesterday’s torn and crisped clothes he kept on and to the Jötunn’s door he knocked – let him see to what danger for his whims the Warrior got.

When the Sorcerer open was pulling the door, certainly the last thing he anticipated to meet was _he_ – the insufferable Prince for long he expected not to see. The Warrior-Prince who’s hair in sizzled plaits now hung, half of their previous size, and who’s one marvelous eye had gone. Empty was the socket of it, burned, the scar already formed.

His heart’s icy cold the Jötunn felt cracking, like as vice the pain speared in his chest. Difficult his masquerade to hold on it was as with magic twitched his hands.

“Took you longer to give up than I thought.” The Jötunn mocked, ire that he didn’t truly feel colouring his voice and with crossed arms on the doorway in his Aesir pallor leant.

“What made you think I would ever come back if not successful of your quest?” But the Prince’s smile satisfied in his self showed he was and a sense of dread through the Jötunn’s body shot.

The Jötunn from his easy perch fell and skeptically at the other looked.

“Surely you don’t mean–”

The magic binding their deal did not lie, the Sorcerer clearly could feel how the Prince’s end of the bargain was complete; flaring a hot, warm gold on his mind’s back.

“Oh, yes, I do, little minx.”

“Then show it to me.” The Jötunn hissed, ignoring the feeling, faking he didn’t believe – he couldn’t truly believe; a myth Erusion’s talisman up to a minute past was, something he had once seen in a book as a kid. "I thought a legend truly it must be."

The Prince a wooden box, intricately carved and bigger than expected, towards the Jötunn extended, but before the Jötunn a hold of it could get and, on second thought, the Prince his hand withdrew and the gesture aborted.

A sly grin slithered on torn lips, towards the Jötunn his stance angled and on a pale cheek his condition breathed. “I will hand it over once the doors of the palace I’ll see you walk.” He said, but his tone more promise held than what obvious at first was.

“Do not try play me, Princeling,” the Jötunn irritated huffed, “I won’t believe the amulet you retrieved until my eyes upon it I lay.” Said emeralds in anger shone and – _yes, indeed, familiar was the smartness of the nymph’s gaze,_ _well-_ _acquainted the bite of her smile_ , the Prince thought. Keeping the knowledge for himself, the Prince a step back took and on his beloved serenely looked.

"Do I deceive you? Do I not? Who is to truly say so?” The Prince seemingly without a care shrugged and under his crisped cape the box safely tucked. “I guess only one way there is an answer to your question to get.”

“And what does the King for your stupid wish have to say?” The Jötunn through gritted teeth asked, his black talons inside his palms curled. Such an insufferable idiot the Prince was!

“The King is being taken care of.”

“You mean. . .?”

In good humour the Prince chuckled and an inky curl behind the Jötunn’s ear perched. “Only that my dear Mother is probably having a word or two with him.”

_In the meantime, inside the golden spires of the palace and in the King’s royal chambers, the King as if a drenched cat on the_ _royal_ _bed was sat, his ear_ _i_ _n a scolding getting dragged on by his powerful Queen._

“ _But my sweet Queen I don't understand! That beast is an outcast! A criminal to the Crown!”_

“ _That child without care from his home you took and the truth from his ears hid! Innocent as any other he_ _had been_ _!”_

“ _His_ people _had_ _abandoned_ _him_ _in_ _th_ _at_ _temple to die!_ _K_ _indness I’_ _ve only_ _showed him!”_

“ _Shush! You foolish old man! In the celebration he will come and as one of us received he’ll be, or so help me Norns!”_

Back to the unseemly pair on the mountaintop, the Jötunn still disagreeable was, elevating the Prince’s good mood, until barely his laughs he could contain. Unable to resist for long, the lithe man in an embrace pulled, on his dirty clothes his grouchiness smothering.

“A Grinch you truly are.” The Prince chuckled and on his hairline a soft peck caressed.

“Foolish it is of you to assume welcomed I’d be.” The Jötunn bemoaned, stiff as a stick under the Prince’s strong arms tried in no avail to be. But so warm the oaf’s embrace was, to the coldness residing in the Sorcerer’s heart its warmth reached, threatening into a puddle to melt him. Coo all you want, my loves, but the Jötunn easily swayed he denied to be.

“Just give us a chance, my love.” The Jötunn’s eyes wide open drew, at the Prince with surprise gazed and on his mind a not-so-long-past conversation came up. _Then, at the lake, the Prince couldn’t possibly mean. . . No, no way!_ Our little Jötunn frantically thought, but the facts at his face glared when through his mind whirled.

Beatifically he was smiled upon and gently pushed back. “I’ll be waiting for your’s and my pets return.” The Prince said and off he was again, ready in his bed to crawl and away to sleep the two days until the celebration of Jól.

On the 19 th  day of Jól, the Prince’s true love gave to him something to look forward to (and a lot of new battle wounds.)

The Jötunn, though. Oh, our little Jötunn frozen for a good long while on his cave’s entrance stood, stunned in silence from the thought that he was whom the Prince’s heart belonged to.

_Could it truly be true?_ Shocked, with mind a great storm, this was the only thing he could think on. After minutes spent in comic confusion, inside by Fenris’s dangerous teeth on his black tunic was pulled until safely behind the closed door he had him. The Wolf snorted as if his master’s situation ridiculous he found and with his tail on the Jötunn’s face swiped, effectively from his trance knocking him out.

But as the Jötunn remembered how to properly function, he was also reminded how tofreak out.

“Oh, Norns! _Oh, Norns!_ ” the Sorcerer almost flailed, through his cave’s distance walking and back again, muttering one crazy thought after the other under his breath until the Wolf his head fed-up he rolled and in for a nap he curled. Not heeding any mind to his master’s dramatics.

“It can’t truly be that he meant _me_!” he mumbled, every meeting through his head running – along with his little play by the lake and how, after that, when the Prince with him in his usual form had met, a kiss on his lips had left. “Sealing of magic, what foolish nonsense! Everyone knows a kiss unnecessary for the binding of a bargain is – even a doofus such as he!”

But truly, the Prince genuine must be. For why else would the he to all that trouble get for a mere outcast like he? Haf his sight losing and getting scarred, blistered and burned only for his goats’ return did sound a bit much, doesn’t it, my little babes?

Anyway, the Jötunn sleepless that night in bed he lay, trying a book to read and from his dreams to hide, but his thoughts persistent turned out to be as to the dark on his tea he sipped. The pain of the hope sprouting in his heart awake and restless in his bedsheets to keep him were.

Same his situation the next day was. Through the length of his cave he nervously walked, his meagre possessions arranging and rearranging, the surfaces dusting off and mumbling, incessantly mumbling. So much too, that Fenris any more couldn’t take and for a quick hunt in the snowy woods he went. If the hunt dragged more than necessarily because he, completely accidentally, allowed his prey to escape just so he wouldn’t have to return soon – well, the Jötunn wouldn’t have a way to know, now, would he?

When back he got, their spacious room as if a battle’s field it looked, minus the poor falen souls. The Jötunn on the magically carpeted floor with folded legs was seated and through his hair his long fingers had wrapped. Pale was his skin, but on the edges tinted blue. A first for Fenris this was, his chosen master in such a state to see.

“Damn him! Damn him to Hel and back for putting me through this!” The Jotunn grumbled and a bolt of magic against the wall exploded. “But no! Only I am to blame! Me and my petty self for being unable to leave the Aesir dumbasses alone!” his voice a higher than usual pitch hit as on his hands he sneered: “Oh, to capture me they seek? Well, let’s destroy their most loved festival AND HAVE THE CONSEQUENCES FALL ALL ON MYSELF BECAUSE THEIR PRINCE IS _A FOOLISH STUPID MAN AND CANNOT LEAVE IT WELL ALONE_!” his head back abruptly tilted and on his feet he jumped. “And now I have to conjure an outfit meant for his damned sake only!”

And that was truly the problem, the Jötunn, suddenly, the Prince wanted to charm. No outfit in his existing wardrobe was good enough, no set of clothes right for the fool’s and his people’s eyes . His tunics weren’t the right tint of black, his vests not the perfect shade of green and the gold of his decorations not catching of the eye enough.

“But what silly thoughts am I thinking?” The Jötunn his shredding through his garments halted and on his simple wooden bed long-sufferingly sat. “There’s no chance to the celebration I will go. His audacity I simply cannot believe! His unmitigated nerves! His ridiculous muscles! Those storm-kissed eyes. . .” He derisively huffed and back on the mattress fell. “Yes, no way, indeed – I mean, you see, I am a very busy man, with a lot of stuff in my schedule to do. Yes, yes. For instance, first thing tomorrow morning I have to hunt for food! Our savings have depleted greatly–” Fenris, simply wanting a little shit to be, that moment chose the great buck from his mouth to release with a nice, loud thump letting it on the floor to fall.

The Jötunn on his elbows rose and blank-faced from the buck to his Wolf looked.

A minute passed, then two and when he talked again, ire his voice embellished.

“I have with magic the temple of Jól to shut.”

Fenris growled and his enormous head shook.

“My hair have gotten overly long,” the Jötunn mused as a long inky curl he inspected, carefully avoiding to look at Fenris’ spirited eyes, “and the split ends, ugh, I hate those! Make my waves frizzy and unkempt to look.”

Fenris huffed.

“And then I want to trim my nails – these incessant talons really annoy me.” The Jötunn didn’t think that any other creature he had ever seen with such an animated expression as Fenris had in that moment. The Jötunn on the wolf’s nose swat and on his side rolled, his back to the beast in contempt showing. “Oh, shut up! You only like them because of the way they scratch behind your ears!”

The Wolf his tongue out lolled and a big swipe on the Jötunn’s bare foot took, making him unwillingly giggle.

“No! No, stop! Don’t try my focus to divert!” The Jötunn grumbled and on his side curled. “But, really, I cannot go. Tomorrow night a comet from our sky will be seen and I cannot miss that chance! It’s once in a lifetime!”

If Fenris could talk, thus he would have replied: “And you will live for 50 lifetimes, at least, _if_ your head in place able to hold you will be. But dumb as a stick sometimes you show to be and into trouble yourself lead, so I will be truthfully surprised if you live to see a thousand of your years.” Or this is what the Jötunn thought his wolf would say.

So condescending, so abrasive, so. . . _true_.

The Jötunn’s body slumped and under a grey fur he quietly crawled.

“As always, right you are, sweet Fenris. To the dumb affair I will go and damn them all who might mock.”

If only for Erusion’s charm, he’d go.

It had nothing to do with the Prince’s smile or stupidly beautiful blue eyes – _eye_ , stupidly beautiful blue _eye._ Certainly not.

His voice in sentiment dipped and at the painting that on the opposite wall hung with melancholy glanced. “And maybe, after that, just maybe to my Mothers a visit I’ll pay. It has already been, what – thirty - forty years since I’ve seen them last?” He mumbled and unwillingly smiled when his wolf’s warm muzzle atop his back he felt. “Maybe they will be able to forgive me now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the 10 people reading this story, I am sorry for skipping a week _again_. 
> 
> Also thank you all who are giving this story a chance~ truly appreciate it <3


	6. Every Tale Has An End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the night of Jól,  
> and as our trip to an end closes on,  
> joyous must be all!

When the morning of the Winter Solstice dawned, Fenris had to bodily the Jötunn from the cave to pull.

The young man grumbled and squeaked and on his friend’s great muzzle with cold blue hands swatted. “Unhand me, Fenris!” Affronted, a huff from his lips fell and with snapping fingers on his lonely garment dusted.

Cerulean his body under the sun’s rays shone, obvious his intricate markings were and terrible his crimson eyes. His hair over his shoulder jostled, akin to a waterfall at night on his back to ripple. Several coloured stones in it’s darkness gleamed and dressed as he was in only a black kilt, that to the middle of his thigh reached, his Jötunn physique to everyone’s eyes glaring would be - if to the dumb thing he were to go as his true form he’d do so, what everyone so dearly love to despise for once again to meet and, thus, to the selfish Prince a lesson or two he would teach.

On Fenris’ back he did the long trek down from his mountain and when, finally, to the capital reached well past noon it was. Surely the Prince worried he wouldn’t show already would be. The Jötunn smirked to himself, thinning of the Prince waiting for his appearance; nervous and wondering, perhaps a tether close to giving up, his irrational hope squashed down to ashes. But as pleasurable this thought n another day would have been, this time in quiet disappointment left him on Fenris’ dark tufts to grip.

When the palace’s gates he reached, every Aesir of the capital inside he could see, awaiting for the final celebration of Jól – as always colourful, radiant, full of irritating glee and cheer. Open mouthed his parade they watched.

Still mounted on his Wolf’s back his way through the halls made, no warrior, no guard the slightest motion to stop him making and when in Glaðsheimr they entered, there the Prince stood, regal and handsome achingly, in his crimson cape that so well with the Jötunn’s eyes matched – as he only now noticed – ceremonial armour on his roughened form, his hair shorn were and a leather eyepatch over the empty socket of his eye perched.

The Jötunn his breath for strength held and openly at his Prince’s smile sneered.

With a wave of his hand, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr before their master landed. Stunned were the faces all around but for the Prince’s and his Mother’s – the King another story entirely was as, like a scolded child, with a pout on his white beard at his family and the intruder looked on.

“You’re here!” The Prince happily exclaimed, to a murmured wave erupting the spectators of this farce. At once their deal’s magical binds in his veins sizzled and white-gold in the Jötunn’s mind flared before with an inaudible hiss free it snapped.

Any hint of apprehension he might have, the Jötunn under his belittling smirk hid. “Of course I did.” On a flair from his Wolf the Jötunn dismounted and at the Prince’s sharp inhale of breath marveled. Appreciative the Prince’s eyes were, warm his glance was as his exposed form for the first time he took in. The Jötunn his jaw tightened and the flutter in his heart tried to squash as with sharpness at the Prince glared. “You have something that belongs to me, I believe.”

The Prince his blue form watched dazed and, if the Queen that moment hadn’t chosen a step forward to take, maybe like this to this day the two of them frozen would have stayed.

Snicker, giggle, little imps, for one day to their position you, too, will get and then the woes of love you, too, will get to know.

“Welcome to our home, sweet child,” the Queen with warmth greeted, her arms wide open in welcome held before on the Jötunn’s bare arms with gentleness touched. “I’ve heard so much good about you.”

The Jötunn dazed felt, for her eyes only truth held. Her smile genuine on her beautiful face was, her palms warm on his chilly skin and when the Prince came to stand behind her, the acceptance mirrored in their faces he could see. His heart it had, a nasty tug to give.

But the little moment wasn’t for long to live as the King’s snort their little bubble popped. Not even the Queen’s askance glance was able to save the Jötunn’s frail mood from crashing on the ground. A hasty step behind he took, from the Queen’s hypnotizing warmth escaping and a glare at the Prince he sent. An eyebrow in defiance he raised.

“There, my Prince, your dear goats safely returned to your side are and here for everyone the Horrible Jötunn to see I am.” With a flair, a mocking bow to the waist the Jötunn did. “Now, of your royal hair out I will get and all to celebrate in peace I will leave you be.” And like this the Jötunn on his step pivoted and to Fenris with clenched shoulders he walked.

However, the Prince’s warm hand inside his with surprising ease slipped and blue with white their fingers mingled.

“What of your boon?” On voice tight he asked, but the Jötunn his eyes didn’t turn to meet.

“I have no care for it.” Hissed the Jötunn and from the grasp his hand tried to free.

The Prince, of their audience uncaring, a step forward moved and his chest to the Jötunn’s back slotted. His voice like a summer’s breeze on the Sorcerer’s hair ruffled and on his skin goose’s flesh trailed.

"To chase chimeras you sent me off, wicked naiad; for days through the realms I traveled – a minute’s rest I didn’t get as I fought – with Elves and Giants of Fire; half my sight I lost and the my hair’s glory and this only of you I ask: join me this night in the celebration of Jól. Your ethereal presence bestow upon me and the heathens silence with the power of your wit and beauty."

His arm like a brand around the Jötunn’s waist curled, brought the wooden box to the Jötunn’s chest was and secure was the Prince’s hold, warm his flesh both and captivating his words.

“Accept this present as what it truly is – not a mean to an end, not a bargain, but my love for you. The limits I would go if you wished it of me.”

The Jötunn’s fingers trembled when upon the box’s lid they rested.

“Open it.” The Prince whispered. Soft on his beloved’s lavender-scented hair kissed.

A sharp inhale of a breath the Jötunn had to take when the lid open he stood. For there, inside the intricately woven box, on the darkest evergreen velvet lay the most stunning circlet any eye had ever laid upon.

Erusion’s charmed stone vibrantlyshone, wreathed in so fine a work that nearly ice the Jötunn thought it was and, between the delicate silver twines, emeralds as green as the treess first leaves embellished in a marriage of frost and spring. Exquisite, dazzling – a royal boon indeed.

“It’s yours, rightfully so. Akin to how my heart in the same way to you it belongs. If you will accept it.” The Prince whispered, his nose through the soft tresses caressed, his forehead on the top of the Jötunn’s head rested, eyes closed, lungs tight a vice of anxiousness. But the Jötunn speechless in his place stood; the fine headpiece dazzled watching, the Prince’s words taking in, trying to understand them, the slightest hint of a lie trying to find.

He couldn’t though, not when he wracked his mind and not when his magic used.

Could it be, someone so much _him_ to love?

The Prince from his perch was shook when the Jotunn’s head to the side turned. His crimson eyes brilliant and full of hope, in accumulating moisture gleaming like droplets of paint.

However, the answer clear on the Prince’s face glared. Yes, someone _could_ the Jötunn runtling love . Considering s omeone _already_ did.

“Would you put it on for me, my Prince?” The Jötunn on a shaking whisper answered and a watery chuckle from his lips allowed free to fall when the Prince’s form in relief eased and a blinding grin on his full lips stretched.

“Yes, my love, of course.”

The Jötunn on the cheek lovingly kissed him and properly to the front turned. With sure hands the Prince the circlet from its case took and upon the Jötunn’s head upside down let it rest, the wreathed band his blue forehead with the elegant twines adorned and the legendary amulet inside his black curls nestled and shone. The emerald against the inky waves gleamed, the silver and the little green stones with the stones already in the Jötunn’s hair mixed, as if stars in a dark river mirrored. Beautifully befit to any form the Shifter of Shapes might slip.

Gently the Prince turned his love around, to his warm embrace drawing him in. However, at the Jötunn still anxiously looked, noticing the warmth of his eyes, the stretch of his smile – so alike to the ones he had given him that night, decades ago at the fated festival. The Jötunn’s grin impossibly wide stretched, his lean arms about the Prince’s neck curled and the Prince on a short exhale, a chuckle he let on. His love’s answering one – music to his ears, torrential wave in his heart.

Still laughing in glee, the Jötunn in his arms swiped, around in a hug twirled and, when on his feet again allowed him to stand, his lips in a sweet nuzzle caught.

The crowd, who stunned the interaction up to this point watched, in cheer and congratulations erupted. Deafening were their shouts; filled with surprise, but true delight on their beloved Prince’s behalf. The Queen at her only son looked, as finally his true love by his side got – her elegant hands upon her mouth rested, eyes misty as their happiness she watched. Even the King, with fond exasperation gazed at his heir as, uncaring, a show put on for the hundreds of their peers.

The King his staff stamped on the marbled ground and the couple’s attention along with everyone else’s dragged on him.

“People of Asgard,” his booming voice through the walls carried, and his son’s eye his own met, “from this day on, in this hall I want to welcome the Jötunn of Asgard and my blessings for his and my heir’s upcoming union upon them to bestow.”

The Jötunn's hand inside his intended’s slipped, tightly holding on as the old King on his legs stood and with heavy steps down the dais walked.

His hard blue eye on the Jötunn's searched, but the fear he had seen in the all those years past, gone from his gaze was, replaced with persistent defiance even as his talons from nerves on the Princes flesh prickled.

“With glory and braveness your demons you may face. Your joined lives happy may they be and prosperous for yourselves and the kingdom you will one day rule.” Warm and heavy the King’s wrinkled arm on the Jötunn's shoulder was, threat hiding to this innocent gesture of his. Then, with a move of his hand, music filled the halls and smiling servants spilled through the crowd.

The ale copiously flowed and happy laughter was exchanged and the Prince, besotted, eye only for his darling had. Chuckling and euphoric, to his love couldn’t hold back from nuzzling kisses into his lips while into a light sway lured from the happy notes they were.

However, their happiness wasn’t for long to live.

Disruption from outside where to come and on this beautiful moment to interfere.

Thunderous neighs from outside were heard and, not a moment hence, a sleigh big as a skiff inside the halls with grace flew. Eight enormous reindeer the sleigh pulled; total black their furs were, as did their horns, too. Crimson deep as blood their eyes. Breathing, living, corporeal shadows the creatures were.

The reindeers on the marbled floor their charcoal hooves touched and gently the black sleigh landed, with neighs and huffs their big heads shook and the crowd shouting dispersed spooked, behind golden columns hid and under heavily laden tables scurried.

The Prince his Jötunn behind his back tried to pull, as a sturdy wall between the invader and his love to stand. But the Jötunn his hold shook and instead on the ready with his conjured daggers on the Prince’s side stood. Between one blink of the eye and the next, in Aesir skin he was wrapped, hiding his blue flesh and red eyes away, perfectly mixing with the others.

The figure standing on the icy sleigh, big as a building was, at least 10 feet tall! With eyes red and skin a grey blue – like a frozen lake. Familiar his markings and the structure of his face, but no hair his scaled head or face decorated. An iceberg into a terrifying man turned he was.

The King from his throne at once had sat up. His spear on the floor hitting once before his booming voice through the hall echoed again:

"Jötnar-King, what is the meaning of this? I don't remember to our celebrations inviting you." He seethed, his one blue eye on the intruder attentively watched.

A terrible sneer on the Jötnar-King’s mouth stretched, a mockery of a bow to the older King he performed and his voice like an avalanche inside the golden spires reverberated. "Greetings, Aesir-King. Contrite I am this. . . _lovely_ feast of yours to disturb.”

No, sweetlings, he was not and the terrible glint of his crimson eyes obvious made the fact. But, thus he continued, all around with seeking eyes and an easy demeanor looking, hands together lopped at the wrist behind his back and teeth shining in the candle’s light.

“What is your business here?” The Prince growled at the look, the situation not liking in the least.

“Came to retrieve what rightfully mine is.”

Fenris, on a growl of his own and risen shackles, with his tail the glamoured Jötunn in its folds concealed and the Prince, as he too the Jötnar-King’s words confused, on a battle cry it was that his Warhammer to hand called, charging unthinkingly to the great mass of a man.

Lances of ice from the marbled floor under the Jötnar-King’s spell erupted, the Prince’s way blocking incensantly even as he, one after the other, with his Warhammer crumbled them.

“Boy, you think your toy a challenge for me would be?” the Jötnar-King taunted, on a flick of his hand the Prince up to the waist and elbows inside ice trapping. “Think again, Princeling.” He chuckled, the writhing body like a vulture circling.

“Enough!” The Aesir-King roared, his golden spear in aim raising.

“So easily in my hands to be caught – you’d think your son better prepared would be, old man.” Between his fingers the blond head caught, in pain making the Prince wince.

Our little Jötunn watched as the Prince the danger of his power called, his eye blinking white-blue from lightning and outside thunder in the sky booming. If, while trapped in ice the thunder down he called, the ice and puddles littering the marbled floor a horrible conduit would appear to make, crisping upon contact any who unlucky enough to stand near or upon would be.

“Stop!” Our little Jötunn in fright upon realizing so gasped and from Fenris’ hold in haste escaped. “Cease your strike, my Prince or else only you standing left will be!” he yelled and before the giant King bravely stood, before the Prince unwillingly killed them all.

The Prince halted and with still sparkling sight the facts under consideration took. Instantly his flailing stopped and with a breath in the Jötnar-King’s hold relaxed. “Stand back!” He tried to warn the Jötunn, but his little dear a single word wouldn’t hear.

“What is it that you want, Jötnar-King?” The Jötunn asked.

“That which from my temple stolen was long ago.” The Giant-King snarled. “Long were the years I allowed my realm die under your King’s grasp and past the haphazard attempts to reclaim our treasure. High ‘tis the time, action for me to take.”

The Jötunn from the Giant-King to his Prince glanced and from him to the King and Queen, watching as the truth for the interrupted coronation of years past on their minds downed – only the Prince, who from the start of his Jötunn’s innocence sure was, unfazed and angry looked on.

A few moments to think a plan through, the Sorcerer for himself took, to a decision quickly reaching. Squaring his shoulders, his chest bravely puffing out, on green eyes at the Jötnar-King directly gazed. His voice confident and strong.

“Free the Prince, Mighty Giant, and if so you do then, I, personally, the Casket of Ancient Winters back to your Realm for one night each year shall I bring.”

The Giant sneered and with derision at the little man gestured. “And why, pray tell, your words shall I heed? Of what their importance and which the weight of your promise for a savage King?” He demanded, pointing with scorn at the old King.

The Jötunn with a smirk of his own answered and, secretly, for this ruse of his to be successful wished.

“The Prince promised to be mine is,” a flair of his pale hand, his taloned fingers brought upon the circlet on his head to rest, “and I of the Jötnar people am.” The glamour with swiftness he allowed fall, his true self to the Giant’s eyes revealing.

The Jötnar King speechless and blank-faced on the runt for long minutes looked and then, with voice strange, said:

“My ears word of a Jötunn living in Aesir mountains had caught.” His eyes on the Jötunn’s form frozen stayed, “and as I see, true for once they were." Silent and solemn the Jötnar-King watched and for a small eternity the Prince’s head between in his grip still held. “Runt, in this realm how did you end up?”

“Retrieved from your frozen home he was, right at the war’s end. His life by me spared was, when abandoned to die as a babe he had been.” The All-Father’s voice boomed, haughty and self-esteemed.

“ _Fool!_ ” The Jötnar-King roared, from the Prince in negligence let go, his voice like an earthquake to the very foundations the palace shook. “ _You old, vain fool!_ ”

His crimson eyes on the Jötunn’s landed and at once from his body the anger recessed. “My child.” The Giant-King with sadness lowly spoke and, on his knees before the Jötunn sunk. Trembling taloned fingers towards his small form reached and the Jötunn, shocked, to touch his face allowed him. “My sweet runtling. You never were abandoned, my small.”

“I don’t understand.” The Jotunn mumbled, wide-eyed at the foreign King staring.

“You, little child, a Prince yourself are. To Jötunheimr’s royal couple - third son and last. The Casket meant to wield and our people to one day rule.”

The little Jötunn’s mind felt as if it would explode; from a nobody a Prince suddenly to become. This, the reason the Casket all those years past, in his hands abruptly cradled was.

“Speak clearly, Giant-King! If your heir meant to be I was, why would you abandon me?”

“Oh, no. No, my sweet,” the King’s eyes with mist had been covered, rare show of weakness for someone in his enemies’ company. “We never abandoned you. In the Casket’s protection we put you, to keep you safe from harm we sought. But then, when defeated we were, nowhere to find you we could, no matter how long we searched. Your dam and I inconsolable for years were, still to this day our hearts from your loss haven’t mend.”

The Jötunn his Prince’s eyes met and, at the slow smile he saw blooming on his face, he raised his hands up to cradle on the King’s bigger one, averting his gaze to his just-discovered Father’s. A cheeky grin upon his face willed and with teary eyes joked, “Did you miss me?”

A sob from the Jötnar-King’s lips rolled and around his long-lost son his massive form curled. The ice from the Prince’s trap away melted and free he was in his parents’ arms to run.

Aesir people and Jötnar warriors around them whispered, stunned, surprised of the turn their evening had taken and slowly, uncertainly, one by one they started applauding and cheering.

“Come home.” The Jötnar-King whispered, his child’s form with fervor observing, gently gripping his strong, but little to comparison, shoulders. “Return on my side and let our people rejoice. Your Dam’s broken heart let be put back together.” On black hair a kiss he carded.

At that the Prince his head perked and from his Mother’s embrace his self extricated. Reluctantly to his beloved’s sight nearing. until a couple steps behind him apprehensively stood. Worried, anxious once again. Heart a painful clump.

Contritely the Jötunn at his Father looked, “I– To return I cannot. I apologise.” A backwards glance to the Prince and a smile on his lips bloomed, his blue hand in invitation extended, “for here is the man my heart belongs to,” his intended lovingly pulled forward, together to stand before his Father-King. “And here the family I have known. However, I can visit you and to love you I can learn.” He added hastily. “The Casket a trusted companion to me every time.”

The Jötnar-King forlorn had been, but any fate better was now he knew his child alive was. His consent with a nod gave and, while lovingly his little runt’s face touched, a concealed brutal pat on the Aesir Prince’s back set – a warning, really, if anyone had seen one – unkowningly acting in the same way as the old King before him had.

The Prince winced and awkwardly at the Jötnar-King smiled. A smile that honest and loving turned when his Jötunn’s laugh he heard. Flushed indigo were his cheeks, with happiness shining his eyes, however, it wasn’t discovering he was of royal blood and terribly missed, nor true love's kiss that from his frozen heart the Jötunn was healed.

It was his adoptive Mother's sudden fist, landing squarely on his left cheek that had the Sorcerer’s heart melting at the heat.

“You little selfish shite!” The Valkyrie incandescent yelled and with an angry sniffle her son in her strong arms embraced.

The Jötunn bewildered his cheek cradled, for only a moment and then a tear he finally to spill let on. “Mama!” he sobbed and his face to her neck nuzzled, feeling a second pair of roughened arms come around his lithe waist from behind – his other Mother – then a third around his shoulders – his Prince, most surely – and yet another touching his arms gently – the sweet Queen – and a last one swiping all of them up in the Giant-King’s strong embrace.

For the first time in forever the little Jötunn – the outcast, the freak, the beast and the terror of the Aes – cradled in love was, weeping in unadulterated joy.

On that Winter Solstice, Jötnar and Aesir for the first time together rejoiced. Abundant flowed the mead, consumed to the last bone the meat and incessant the the happy, musical beat.

 

* * *

 

Loki with a faraway smile watches at the projection of the following celebration unfolds, taking in the merry atmosphere, but, most of all, the two Princes dancing in the hall.

He must have been silent for long, because a little voice his name calls, pulling him from the moment’s reverence.

“What then, Papa?” his littlest girl asks, extricating herself from her brother’s arms and crawling on the furs towards Loki’s sitting form, embracing his calves and putting her head upon his knees.

Loki smiles at his daughter, carding his forever-taloned, pale fingers through her soft inky hair. “What _happened_ then, my dear.” He corrects. His lips stretch in a devious smirk, flicking the little button of a nose gently. “What happened after is not for little ears to hear.” That year’s fertility festival, a delectable memory forever is to stay, never for his children’s knowing.

“Come on! Tell us a little more!” she whines. The older children are already nodding their heads, captivated.

A huff is all of Loki’s protest. If he is to be honest, he has a little too much fun riling his children up.

“Alright, little imps, only an extra scene, but nothing more.” He flicks his hand and the projector shows the Prince dancing with his little Jötunn. With voice like honey, Loki his narration picks up.

 

* * *

 

The Jötunn’s Warrior-Prince from the feast away in a dance lured him. Inside the festive room they waltzed and twirled until outside on the high balcony they stepped. Warm the Prince’s lips on the Jötunn’s were, caring his embrace, his smile loving.

“All those years past, I remember how your smile was,” the Prince murmurs, “and in remembrance to the night that in your spell I was firstly caught.” His smile is brilliant, his eye same so, mirroring the view of the thousands of stars on the night sky.

“Care a wish for old time’s sake to make?” Asked he, stopping his love in front of a single lantern waiting used to be.

The Jötunn, smiling, with magic the candle lit and upon the flame his wish for the second time in his life whispered.

“May our lives forever as joyful as this moment to be.” And in the air the colourful lantern released, feeling warm and loved for the first and not the last time in his eternal life..

 

* * *

 

“This was the story of how a Jötunn once tried to steal Jól. The end.” Loki sings in a humorous tone. Clapping his hands in finality, meeting the eyes of four of his children – seeing as his youngest has already been asleep for the better part of his tale, laying in a heap before the hearth.

A wave of his hand chases away the frozen image of the Princes on the balcony, smiling at each other.

“Are you satisfied, my halflings?” he asks when the children keep looking at him in silence – such a dire contrast to their previously animated selves.

It’s then that a voice, familiar and loved, comes for the nursery’s door.

“With what lies and terrors are you filling their little minds again, Loki?”

Loki turns his head on the velvet back of his wingback chair, an innocent smile to his dear husband gifting. “No lies this time, darling Thor. Only the truth for our little ones.”

Thor laughs and shakes his head, quick steps to his consort leading him to gently pull him on his feet. Thor kisses Loki lovingly, snuggling in his warm hug, mindful of the bump.

“I’ve come to kiss the kids goodnight,” Thor whispers, his lips on his Jötunn's forehead sweetly resting, the silver of Loki’s adored crown cold against his lips, “expecting to find you half asleep in one of their beds, beloved.”

Loki hums in contentment, caressing his husband’s cheek. “The little rascals kept me from doing just so.” A cheeky smile slides on his face, making Thor laugh, for he knows how true this is. These days Loki can be found dozing off literally on any slightly inclined surface.

It is then the children from their stupor wake and rambunctiously start questions to ask, crowding close to their parents embracing forms.

“Shush, midgets!” Thor scolds with hushed tones, worried glances to the toddler sleeping directing. “No one wants Græipi’s screams at this time of the night to hear!”

“But, Daaaaad, we have like _so many questions_!” Gætir, their oldest son, stresses. His eyes are Aesir-blue, matching with his Jötunn skin and his hair as black as ink, his voice in such extra dramatic pitch one would think his very life depends on getting answers.

Thor exchanges a look with Loki who doesn’t hold back from rolling his eyes at their son’s dramatics.

“Sleep now, questions tomorrow.” Thor states, with difficulty staying unmoved at his children’s pleading eyes.

“First thing in the morning?” Signý, their littlest daughter – fourth one of their children and most cunning one – smiles sweetly at her Father, hugging his thighs and looking up at him with her emerald eyes. So much like a tiny Loki this one, in appearance and everything else, already knows exactly how wrapped she has Thor around her tiny fingers and how to make him dance to her chosen rhythm. Just like her dam.

Thor rolls his eyes, leaning down to kiss a chubby, pale cheek before moving to hoist carefully the sleeping toddler in his arms.

“While we break our fast.” He promises, ignoring his husband’s fond look, and gestures for the kids to get in their beds while he situates the babe in his crib.

“Now, your Dam and the baby need to rest, away from the lot of you, you little cheese weasels!” Thor laughs, tickling lightly his oldest, Arja. He tucks them under the furs one by one, delivering a final round of hugs and kisses.

Ivar – their third, twin to Gætir, but nearly the splitting image of Thor if it weren’t for his crimson eyes – gives a quick hug to Loki and a kiss to his swollen belly before silently running to the bed, just in time for Thor’s mandatory forehead kiss and hair ruffle. He’s the sweetest out of the lot of them, silent and thoughtful, a caring brother and a well-behaved son.

“Sleep tight, sweetlings, don’t let the fae bite.” Loki says from the doorway, waving a hand on a quick protection spell while he waits for Thor to reach his side.

Thor returns his smile when he takes Loki’s extended palm and they walk lazily to their own chambers down the hall where Loki, without losing a single moment, gets situated on the chaise lounge.

“What time are we expected in Jötunheim, tomorrow?” Thor asks, pitching them both a glass of strawberry cider.

“After breakfast. Father loves his grandchildren, surely, but not when they are grumpy and loud first thing in the morning.” Loki chuckles and clings their glasses together when his King comes to sit beside him, pulling him on his side and snuggling close to his warmth. “May we have a joyful Jól, beloved.”

“Merry Jól, my love.”

Much later, when Loki is almost asleep and while Thor is diligently carrying him to bed, Thor quietly asks, “what tale did you tell them and had them so riled up?”

Loki snickers against the warm skin of Thor’s neck, tightening his arms around his shoulders.

“Why, the story of how we two met, of course, dear heart.”

* * *

On the 21 st  of Jól, so many centuries ago, the Jötunn’s true love gave to him immeasurable love and to this day his love strong as ever still burns on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> I swear after this I must be reset to factory settings xD
> 
> Heyo~ so this was it! Thank you all who read on and stuck with me and my terrible schedule-managing until now! I really hope this story was successful in putting a smile on your face~ 
> 
> May we have a good and positive year!!! (yes, i know we are heading into March shush <3)
> 
> Glossary:  
> Jól – Yule  
> Jólfaðr – Odin, Father Yule  
> Tanngrisnir & Tanngnjóstr – Thor’s legendary goats  
> Arja (Irina/ Peace) – aprox. 12-years-old   
> Gætir (Guardian) & Ivar (Archer warrior) – twins, boys, aprox. 10-years-old   
> Signý (Secret victory) – girl, aprox. 6-years-old  
> Græipi (Protector of the Coast) – boy, aprox. 3-years-old   
> Friðr (Beautiful, loved) – unborn, girl

**Author's Note:**

> This is a finished story and will be updated weekly!  
> Kudos, comments and recs are the reward for all the brain cells I burned while writing this and are very much appreciated <3 
> 
> Stay tuned in for more ;)  
> [Tumblr](https://theangrykimchi.tumblr.com/)


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